Sunday Morning

A hymn of hurt in two halves. It opens swaying softly, streetlights through the windows, trying on dresses bought for him and asking whether she looks pretty when she asks him to hit her. The violence is requested, which is the saddest word in the song, and Sunday morning is the one time everything hurts except for him.

The second half turns toward escape. Every night she thinks about the ways she can get out of the hold he has her in, and she talks to herself like a survivor, just make it through the year, just reach the other side alive. By the end the line has inverted. On the far side of it, nothing hurts anymore, not even him.